Cinder Ellie
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: A magical moment, all but forgotten. Updated: Added companion story, Last Dance, as second chapter.
1. Cinder Ellie

Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Don't know where this little story came from, but it had to be written. Fairly certain it's breaking somewhat new ground... Many thanks to the wonderful and talented Brandywine00 for the beta and words of encouragement. (If you haven't experienced her phenomenal stories... Run, don't walk, go read!!) Warning, J/Ellie Valentine's Day Schmoop ahead...

Spoilers—Nothing critical. General Bartowski family knowledge.

Cinder-Ellie—A magical moment, all but forgotten.

* * *

She smiled softly as she unearthed the small jewelry box she'd had since she was a child from where it had been hidden after the move across the courtyard. It contained all of her memories from high school, things she hadn't looked at in years. It was practically a time capsule. She wasn't sure if she wanted to open it yet or wait another decade.

Biting her lower lip, Ellie Woodcomb couldn't resist.

Inside were hand-woven friendship bracelets. She, Heather, Wendy and Angie had made a whole set the summer before their freshman year. There was also a hall pass from her favorite teacher, Mr. Harris. They were normally mundane things unworthy of being a keepsake, but this one was different. It had her name listed as "Joan of Arc" and her destination as "enlightenment."

As she dug deeper, she chuckled softly to herself. She couldn't recall the importance of the green super-bouncy ball, but it must've meant something to her at the time. There were a few graduation cards, her last progress report and a handful of photographs.

She looked through the photos slowly. There was the cast from the sophomore class play after the opening night. There were several shots from basketball homecoming, which had turned out to be a delightful mess after one too many pranks gone awry. There was one of her pulsing something in the blender in her home economics class and one of her and her chemistry lab partner with safety goggles at the Bunsen burner.

It was the last photo that gave her pause, the last photo that transported her back in time more than the others. It couldn't be, could it? There was no way...

* * *

The brunette sighed heavily again.

He couldn't help but notice the way she watched every couple in the restaurant with a sadness, a longing in her eyes.

It wasn't hard to deduce what she was missing. Given the sheer number of teenagers in formal attire, it had to be prom night.

He remembered his vividly. Cassandra Miller had worn some pretty pink number, with entirely too many layers of tulle. He remembered the back of the dress, the way the bodice laced up her spine, the way her soft brown hair swung gracefully over her bare shoulders. He remembered that well because that was the last he saw of her before she met up with Derrick Elmore and he was left to man a post by the punchbowl the rest of the evening.

His waitress was a bottle blonde in her mid-thirties he guessed. Being a gentleman and a Marine, he'd never ask. She topped off his water glass before realizing he'd finished his meal. "Can I get you anything else, sugar?" she asked, clearing his plate.

He looked up at her. He was currently on a layover in L.A. While he was eager to leave the dirt of Costa Gravas as far behind as possible, his flight back to D.C. wasn't until the next morning. He had time to kill. "Can I get a little information?"

"Well, sure, I guess," she said. "What would you like to know?"

"The waitress at the tables in the back there," he began slowly. "She didn't get to go to prom?"

She shook her head, looking over at the girl. "No. She's such a sweet kid, too, y'know? It's too bad."

"Something happen?"

She shrugged. "She won't tell any of us. Believe me, we've tried to get the story out of her. My heart just breaks for her."

"One more question," he said.

"Mm?"

"Is there a florist shop around here?"

* * *

The restaurant had been busy up until seven, because that was when the senior prom started. She imagined what it would be like. Swirling across the dance floor with her own gorgeous dress. Looking down, however, at the black skirt and white oxford she wore, she felt very much like Cinderella.

Her coworkers had offered to chip in and get her a dress. While it would've been nice to have accepted the money, to buy the beautiful ice blue gown she'd seen in the store window at the mall, she just couldn't. Her father should've paid for it. Her mother should've been there to help her accessorize and fix her hair and makeup.

The thoughts of her parents, of all the things they "should've" done, made her sigh again as she pocketed the measly tip from the last of her classmates.

It was only a stupid dance, she told herself. A boring dance that would be dreadful. Not at all fun. Not something worth her time, energy, effort, or money. Despite all her efforts to convince herself of that, for the hundredth time since waking up that morning, she felt on the verge of tears.

Mentally, she chided herself. For what? Why was she crying over something that didn't mean anything, something that wouldn't last?

"Excuse me, miss..."

She wanted to turn around and snap. She didn't want to deal with people anymore. She didn't want to be at work anymore. She quelled her knee-jerk reaction with a slow breath. "Yes?" she asked as she turned to see him.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, a clean-cut young man in a black suit. He was older than she was, but he was dreamy. Once she was able to pull her hazel eyes from his blue ones, she noticed the plastic package in his hands. It wasn't one of their take-out containers. It held a gorgeous corsage made of white roses with green ivy, tied with a beaded silver and black ribbon.

"Wh..."

"I was wondering if I might have this dance?"

"Oh, I..." She glanced around, noticing that her coworkers had gathered near the kitchen door. Everyone lingered, from the cooks to the servers, even the manager. They were all grinning like idiots, nudging each other and whispering things she couldn't hear. She looked back up at him. She offered him the smallest of smiles. "I'd be honored," she murmured.

He removed the corsage from its box, sliding it on her left wrist when she hesitantly presented it to him. His gold and garnet ring caught the light briefly. "I didn't have a very good prom night either," he told her quietly. "Maybe one dance will make it up to the both of us."

She could only nod, trying to process that a handsome young man was asking her to dance. He'd even bought her flowers. She wasn't sure anyone ever had before.

The ambient music suddenly ended. A few seconds later, Ella Fitzgerald's soulful voice echoed through the silent restaurant, belting out the sultry standard, All the Things You Are.

Even the few remaining patrons stopped to watch as he pulled her gently into his arms. He stood a respectful distance from her, with one hand lightly on her hip, the other holding her hand gently.

She rested her left wrist, with the beautiful corsage, on his shoulder.

For the next few minutes, she wasn't at the restaurant where she worked, wearing her work clothes, dancing in the open space between tables with some light-on-his-feet stranger. For the next few minutes, she was in that ice blue gown, dancing with a prince in a castle ballroom.

Her shoes had to be made of glass instead of scuffed patented leather.

The magic was over almost as suddenly as it had begun, but it had done wonders. She no longer felt like she was missing out, like the only place to find happiness that night was at the school gymnasium with the rest of her class. Instead of being weighted down with pressures of real life, she felt like she was walking on air.

Her smile was genuine as he eased back from her, bowing slightly.

She managed a curtsey in return.

The manager rushed forward from where he'd taken up residence among the rest of the staff, a camera in his hands. "Can't have prom without a picture."

The younger man hesitated, but nodded after seeing the hope in her eyes.

She started to move closer towards him again, but stopped. She nervously ran a hand through her long dark hair.

"You look beautiful," he assured her as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm Ellie, by the way," she told him, settling against his chest.

"John," he said, mere seconds before the camera flashed.

* * *

She looked out the front window, into the courtyard of her apartment building. Two figures wandered in, chatting amiably. One was her brother. The other was tall, with broad shoulders, a clean cut man in blue jeans and a black polo shirt. The man with blue eyes and a distinctive gold and garnet ring on his right hand.

* * *

End.


	2. Last Dance

Disclaimer—Characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—By request. This story took a lot of strange forms at first. Believe it or not, this was going to be highly dramatic and much, much longer... thankfully the fluffier plot bunnies won out and we're back to something at least somewhat softer... Many, many thanks to the talented and gifted Brandywine00.

Spoilers—Vague end of Season 2.

Last Dance—He never expected to hold her in his arms again. Companion piece to Cinder-Ellie.

* * *

As a Marine, John Casey was meticulous about details. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. There was only one exception, the one that proved the rule.

The first drawer on the left in his kitchen was filled with a myriad of things that didn't have a place. Every now and then he'd clean it out, go through and sort what needed to be put somewhere else or what could be thrown away. Since he couldn't remember when it had been taken care of last, he decided it was time.

Dragging the chair from his computer desk into his kitchen, he sat down and opened the junk drawer. He pulled out expired coupons from a couple restaurants at the mall and tossed them in the garbage. Next up, he removed a whole stack of business cards he'd pilfered from an antiques exporter, from a mission now ages ago, dispatching of them as well.

There were a handful of nine-millimeter bullets for his SIG Sauer and a pair of wire-tie riot handcuffs. He vaguely recalled emptying his pockets into the drawer after an assignment when he'd been startled by a knock on his front door. He set them carefully on the counter, to put away when he finished.

He had a whole selection of matchbooks from every bar he'd tended within the past year which he left untouched. He seemed to be behind the bar more often than not as part of the Intersect project. For the most part, he didn't mind. He got to keep his tips, which explained the assortment of change, bottle caps, and napkins with scribbled phone numbers and lipstick kisses.

The change, he'd roll later. The bottle caps and napkins, he tossed.

He spotted the vellum envelope next. Pulling it out, he sat back in his chair, sighing when he realized what it was. The calligraphy on the exterior was perfect. The card within was covered with embossed, stylized lilies, inviting him to the union of Eleanor Fay Bartowski and Devon Christian Woodcomb, as well as asking for his prompt return of the RSVP, which was still enclosed.

There was a very good reason why he hadn't sent it.

* * *

He'd been a last-minute invite, but he'd accepted it graciously, with a handful of cigars to share. The beachfront seafood restaurant was small and quaint but just right for the rehearsal dinner. He'd spent most of his time out on the deck in the twilight, with a scotch from the open bar and a cigar, content to watch over the party, ever the sentinel.

Sarah'd joined him early, quietly talking shop. After all, there was Intersect 2.0 coming online and Casey's promotion to contend with. Their two-year partnership was coming to a close. So many things were changing.

When Chuck had wandered over, Casey'd offered him a cigar. The kid had contemplated it for a solid five minutes before chickening out. The elder Bartowski, Stephen, however, had gratefully accepted one.

Even Devon's father, Woody, had partaken. Devon merely held his, unlit.

"I was wondering who was holding court over here." The gathering parted, and Ellie smiled up at John. "Mr. Casey," she said, in mock indignation.

"Miss Bartowski," he returned with a slight incline of his head.

"You realize, don't you, that this is my party?" she said, a playful twinkle in her eyes, a hand on her hip.

"Perhaps we should dance. That way you can definitely be the center of attention," John returned.

She held her hand out to him.

He gave his lit cigar to Chuck and his glass to the groom. "Hang onto those," he said before taking her hand and guiding it to the crook in his arm. He escorted her to the dance floor, just inside the restaurant's back door.

As Dean Martin began to croon about his Innamorata, Casey pulled her into his arms. Something about holding her felt familiar. He just couldn't place why.

"You are a man of hidden talents," she said, amazed at his footwork.

He shrugged. He was a man with more than a few secrets. One of which was he couldn't turn off being an NSA agent, not even for a moment. As he swayed with her to the music, he couldn't help but check their surroundings. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The party-goers were smiling, watching the two of them. "Seems it worked," he told her.

"What did?"

"All eyes are on you again," he murmured, looking down at her. He noticed that her breath seemed to catch in her throat for a moment.

She licked her lips, looking at his broad shoulders, smoothing his already flat jacket lapel. "I reviewed the RSVPs one last time this afternoon, for the caterer's final count. Yours was suspiciously missing," she told him.

"About that," he began hesitantly. How could he tell her he was shipping off tomorrow? How could he tell her he was rejoining his Marine Special Forces unit? "I have a previous engagement, unfortunately, with people I haven't seen in years," he said slowly.

"Well, it's probably better that way, if tonight is any indication. Scene stealer," she accused lightly.

There was something off in her voice. If he didn't know any better, he'd guess it was disappointment. "My apologies," he said, sending her out for a spin before twirling her back into his chest.

He suddenly had memories of another restaurant, of another dance with another brunette. A voice echoed from the very back corner of his brain: "I'm Ellie, by the way."

He stopped. It hadn't been a different brunette; it was the _same_ brunette. The same Ellie.

He'd never forgotten the girl or the moment, but his mind had blurred her features in subsequent replays of the event.

Ellie slowly pulled back from him, looking up at him curiously. "John?"

Her voice brought him to the present. "Sorry."

"Are you all right?" she asked, as the song finally faded and ended.

He nodded. "Take care of yourself, Ellie. I hope that you and Devon are exceedingly happy. You deserve it."

She bit her lower lip. "If I didn't know any better, John, I'd say that kind of sounded like a goodbye."

Perceptive, Ellie was. "It's just my wish for you."

Her hazel eyes searched his blue ones. She didn't like that his expression was guarded, like he knew something she didn't. "You deserve happiness, too," she said finally.

He leaned in, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I will miss seeing the most beautiful bride on the planet tomorrow."

"We'll have pictures," she promised.

Idly, he wondered what had happened to the photo from before.

Again, the look in his eyes spoke volumes to her, like he'd never see her wedding album, like he'd never see her again after that night. Impulsively, she hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

He eased an arm around her for a brief moment, before pulling back from her.

She smiled as she released him, but there was a hint of sadness to it.

He gave her a wink. The night was hers to celebrate. He'd just vanish. After she came down from her wedding euphoria, once all the gifts were opened, once all the thank-you cards had been sent, she'd forget all about him.

Just like they'd both forgotten about the dance all those years ago. And he told himself he was okay with that.

He sighed heavily. She never needed to remember the first dance, their impromptu prom. Just like she'd never need to know that he'd saved her wedding, helping give her the ceremony she'd really wanted. Exhaling, he threw the envelope in the garbage can.

* * *

End.


End file.
